


Distracting Indeed

by amethystviolist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystviolist/pseuds/amethystviolist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his job and walking around in the rain, Castiel Engel is not having a good day, and it only gets worse when someone steals his wallet. Castiel pursues the thief, however, and when the stranger gets a cut on his head, Castiel invites the man into his apartment for a bandage and lunch. As time goes on, Castiel discovers that maybe his day won't be so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distracting Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> This is also from Tumblr, "kissed them as a distraction while stealing their wallet", so due credit to whomever I got that list from. Sammy is in college at Stanford in this AU setting, that's why this takes place in California (not that it really matters, but hey, the more you know). You should drop me a comment!

Castiel Engel was having a terrible day.

His normal bus was involved in a wreck, meaning he had to walk to work in the rain, and when he did at last get there, his boss had fired him for being late. Now Castiel was unemployed, wet, miserable, and the apartment rent was due next week. It really couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Or so he thought.

Castiel was on his way home, his tan trenchcoat and suit coat slowly dripping as he hurried down the sidewalk in the brief reprieve from the rain. The sky was overcast and gray, matching Castiel’s mood perfectly, and he wasn’t really looking where he was walking, avoiding people instinctively as they passed. Or perhaps they were giving him a wide berth, this stranger with damp hair sticking up crazily and a soaked blue tie hanging crooked. Whatever the case, Castiel was avoiding human contact in his dark cloud of misery, so turning onto a side street out of most traffic enforced his solitude. The less populated street only added to Castiel’s shock when he found himself pushed roughly into the nearest wall and lips connect with his.

The first thought that went through Castiel’s mind wasn’t really a thought, more just sheer shock. The second thing, though, was to take notice of the way the stranger’s lips moved just right to slide against his own, and how that strangely felt really, really good. The other person quickly broke away and stepped back, breaking the few seconds of lightning-filled contact, and Castiel dimly registered disappointment of all things under the surprise and confusion. As Castiel caught his breath from the sudden kissing, he took in the appearance of the stranger in front of him. The man facing him had flaring green eyes under sandy-colored hair cut close to his head, and somehow a sadness in the sag of his shoulders, masked by a mischievous grin.

“Well that was exciting,” the kisser in jeans and a leather jacket said in a surprisingly deep voice before suddenly sprinting away down the street. Castiel was still reeling a bit, but after only a few steps away from the wall, he missed the familiar thump of his wallet against his leg, and understood all too easily what had occurred. He’d been robbed. Now ordinarily, Castiel wouldn’t have bothered with chasing the thief down, not for the fifteen dollars or so that the wallet contained, but those fifteen dollars might be all he had this week on which to live. So Castiel Engel lunged back into the stream of people and scanned the crowd for a man with green eyes in a leather jacket.

If the thief hadn’t caught sight of Castiel giving pursuit and started jogging again, Castiel doubted he would have spotted the man. His moving target now in sight, the man in a trenchcoat flew down the sidewalk, pushing past shoppers and commuters to keep his eye on that leather jacket. The green eyes flashed again as the thief briefly looked over his shoulder, and caught sight of Castiel gaining ground, coat flapping in the wind of his run. With a curse, the thief picked up his pace and ducked down a side street. But Castiel wasn’t easily fooled, and followed immediately. Finally, after so many twists and turns that Castiel was very nearly lost, the stranger tripped over a broken parking curb, hitting the ground hard. His pursuer caught up quickly, breathing heavily, and came to a halt above the thief.

“Dammit,” gasped the man in a leather jacket, rolling over to stare up at Castiel from the ground, a gash on his forehead oozing slightly. “Why do you have to be so damn fast?”

“I suppose it’s because of my natural endurance,” Castiel answered with mild confusion, before focusing again. “Return my wallet. I assure you that upon the return of my wallet and its contents, I do not intend to press charges.” Only because he couldn’t afford a court case.

“Look, man,” said the stranger, sitting up carefully and wincing as he clutched his head, “I don’t like stealing. And I usually get caught. Like this,” he added with a huff of humorless laughter. “But I’ve got a little brother that’s finishing up school. And he can take care of himself just fine, this isn’t a sob story like that,” the thief added hastily. “No, it’s sad because he thinks he has to care for me. And if he drops out just so I can have an extra hamburger every once in a while…” The stranger shook his head with disappointment haunting his face, avoiding looking at Castiel. “He doesn’t need to support me; I need to support me. And with this crap economy, this is the fastest way for me to convince him I’m okay. I know this is hard to ask, but you’ve probably got a job in an office cubicle somewhere makin’ a set amount, with a girlfriend and a social life, and I just want to avoid being homeless. Can you spare whatever’s in here? Or anything in here?” The stranger got to his feet, holding the wallet out with a longing last look at it, and pleading silently as his eyes locked on Castiel.

“I wish I could,” Castiel replied, with true regret in his voice. “But I’m afraid I am in the same predicament. I’ve lost my fourth job in six weeks, and rent is due next week for my apartment, and the contents of my wallet is nearly all I possess. I cannot afford to give you the money I need to eat.” During his explanation, the thief's eyes had widened significantly, and the instant Castiel fell silent, the stranger jumped in.

“Dude, I am so sorry,” he hurried to say. “I had no idea. I try to just steal from, well, the rich targets, and with your suit and all…”

“I am not offended,” Castiel lied calmly. “Although I am curious as to why a kiss was necessary to steal from me.” The man flushed red briefly, reaching to rub the back of his neck.

“Uh, well, it, uh, it wasn’t really _necessary_ , I guess,” muttered the stranger. “But, you know, you’re fairly attractive and I thought it would make a good distraction. Which it did,” he defended himself.

“It was certainly distracting, indeed,” Castiel agreed. The stranger ran a hand through his hair as a silence took hold.

“I’m Dean,” the thief said suddenly. “Dean Winchester.” Castiel took the proffered hand and tried not to feel elated from such a simple touch.

“My name is Castiel Engel,” he answered. The two stared for a moment, green eyes meeting blue ones, before Dean Winchester cleared his throat and pulled his hand away.

“Uh, well. Nice to kinda meet you, and sorry for, you know, stealing your wallet.”

“You do have some money, right?” asked Castiel hesitantly. “Enough to stay in your…?”

“Motel room,” Dean filled in. “Yeah, I already paid the owner for the month.”

“You… Are you… Would you like to come to my apartment?” Castiel blurted out. Dean’s eyebrows shot up, and Castiel hurried to clarify. “To get medical attention for the large gash on your forehead.”

“Crap,” muttered Dean, reaching up to probe at his forehead and finding the copious amount of blood. “How screwed up are we talkin’, like band-aid bad or stitches bad?”

“It is difficult to discern with the amount of blood on your skin,” Castiel noted with a frown. “But most likely a bandage alone will suffice. You’re welcome to come with me, it shouldn’t be a long walk.” Dean Winchester seemed to hesitate a moment, but glanced at the blood coating his fingers from his head and sighed.

“Yeah, you better fix me up, Doc, I haven’t got more than a field first aid kit.”

“I am not a doctor,” Castiel corrected, and gestured in the direction of his apartment.

“Are you from another country or somethin’? Not that I mean to pry,” Dean added quickly, as they began to walk together.

“No, I have lived here in California my whole life,” answered Castiel, tilting his head confusedly. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “You just have a… an interesting way of speaking.”

“Thank you?” Castiel replied, the uncertainty clear in his tone. Dean laughed.

“Yeah, it’s a compliment. I like the way you talk.” They continued walking in silence for a few minutes, just turning down the streets Castiel indicated.

“Your manner of speech is also a cause for fascination,” Castiel said to break the silence. Dean grinned back.

“See, that’s what I mean right there, ‘cause for fascination’ or somethin’ fancy like that. The way you say things, it’s… different.”

“I was raised in a rather sheltered life, I suppose,” Castiel mused. “Perhaps that is causation for the phenomenon you indicate.” Dean shook his head slowly, smiling widely, and clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Cas, don’t ever change,” he asserted. Castiel returned a small smile of his own, before pointing to the left.

“The next building contains my apartment. I hope you don’t mind stairs.”

“Nah,” Dean waved off the concern. “I’m fine with stairs!”

~

Three flights of steep stairs later, and the glass window-wall to the left sending dizzying height alarms to Dean’s mind, he was starting to disagree with himself.

“Hey, Cas,” he huffed. The man in the trenchcoat turned around from a step or two ahead. “We almost there?” Dean glanced to the left and thought he might be sick. _Don’t look down, don’t look down._

“Yes, I live on the fifth floor, only two more levels,” replied the deep-voiced man. Dean nearly groaned out loud. More stairs. And more space between his feet and the ground. Apparently this showed on his face, because Castiel Engel’s strangely blue eyes softened around the edges a bit.

“It is pleasant to be up there, I assure you. Because of a better vantage point, perhaps, high places seem to make me more comfortable,” mused the man.

“Good for you,” muttered Dean under his breath, starting up the stairs again. As Cas jogged up the stairs two at a time, Dean struggled to keep up.

“I see why you can outrun me now,” Dean commented. “Elevator broken or somethin’?”

“I prefer the stairwell,” Castiel said vaguely. Dean had a feeling there was more to the story.

“Why? Isn’t the elevator easier?”

“Perhaps. But the exercise is healthy, and the small space of an elevator is… uncomfortable,” the man finished, avoiding looking at Dean by simply climbing faster.

“Claustrophobic, then?” clarified Dean, hurrying up the many stairs after the flapping trenchcoat.

“Some. The lack of control of my own motion also concerns me. What if it got stuck? I’d be helpless to fix it, trapped instantly. The thought of confinement is not a pleasant one,” Castiel concluded. Dean nodded, rounding the corner to begin the last flight of stairs.

“I think that makes sense. I live on the road a lot, so love of freedom ain’t a stranger. Ride where the wind points me,” he added almost dreamily. Just him and his Baby, that ‘67 Chevy Impala, and the open road stretching to the horizon.

“I don’t have a car at all, but your description of living nomadically sounds captivating.” Behind Cas’s back, Dean allowed himself another smile. ‘Living nomadically’ was ‘captivating’. A few steps later, Castiel opened a door, shoving it wide for Dean behind him, and stepped into a narrow hall. As predicted, the fifth floor did not feel more safe in the slightest. The only good thing about reaching the fifth floor was that he could walk away from the glass wall of the stairs, and of course that he didn’t have to climb anymore. The blue-eyed man continued to the apartment labeled E3, and pulled out a key.

“I wasn’t expecting company, of course,” Castiel hurried to say. “But it should be in reasonable order.” He unlocked the door and gestured for Dean to follow. Dean’s first impression of the room was a general lack of color. The walls were plain white, with one forlorn painting of a purple flower drooping alone on a wall. Two armchairs and a tiny couch facing an old television and a small window to the city below filled most of the space Dean could see, but Cas didn’t go in the ‘living room’ area. He veered left, where a mini-kitchen held a fridge, sink, stove, and a table with a solitary chair. Moving through the kitchen, Cas continued to a closed door.

“I will return in a timely manner with first aid supplies. Make yourself comfortable,” the man added, waving his hand around to indicate the apartment in general, before ducking behind the door and closing it again. Dean paused awkwardly, finding himself suddenly alone. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, glancing around the small apartment. It did look more lived-in at a closer observation than it had at first glance. Books were scattered around one of the armchairs in the living room, and the refrigerator had a few pictures taped to it. One of the pictures showed what was clearly a younger version of Dean’s host dressed as an angel, holding a bag full of candy. Castiel couldn’t have been more than ten in the photograph, and the same could be said for the red-headed little girl next to him, dressed as a fairy, who had the same nose. Even then, Cas’s blue eyes really were striking, Dean thought admiringly.

“Would you mind sitting at the table?” came a sudden voice. Dean jumped and spun around to Castiel standing very close, cloth bandage roll, ointment, and other medical supplies in his hands.

“You’re like a freakin’ ninja, man,” Dean said as he complied with Cas’s request, sitting in the hard-backed wooden chair at the table. “You just appeared behind me, I didn’t hear the door or anyth...” Dean’s sentence trailed off as he fully took in the sight before him. Yes, on the street in a crowd of people, a reasonably young and fairly attractive guy in a suit made a good target. But now, Cas had apparently discarded the trenchcoat somewhere behind that door, and was simply wearing a rather damp white shirt that stuck to his surprisingly muscular stomach, and had the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The blue necktie was looser and still hanging backwards, and Dean noticed his host was also standing in socks that didn’t quite match. As Cas started fiddling with the first aid equipment, Dean found himself staring at the man he’d tried to rob- at his nimble hands, at his chest, at the stubble shading his jawline, at his mussed dark hair, at those freaking gorgeous eyes…

“The wound needs to be cleaned first.” Had Dean mentioned the voice? Damn. “Tilt your head back slightly.” Castiel leaned over Dean and started gently cleaning the blood of his face, murmuring apologies when Dean twitched away from the pain of the gash being cleaned. Dean started staring at the wall to distract himself from the proximity of the incredibly attractive person caring for him at the moment.

“As I previously hypothesized, a bandage should suffice,” Castiel broke the silence, stepping back to observe the wound. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous at all?”

 _Just from wanting to try a proper kiss this time._ “No, no spinning rooms or anything, I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“I do not understand how a fiddle can be fit,” Cas muttered, dabbing ointment on the cut on Dean’s head.

“It’s just an expression,” Dean shrugged.

“I am aware of that, but it is illogical. Hold still, I’m going to wrap your head with the cloth.”

“Like a mummy. Awesome.” Dean held still as directed while Cas stepped closer again and started winding the cloth around Dean’s head. Apparently, though, Dean’s head was imagining too much, because he could have sworn he heard a little catch in Cas’s breathing and a light touch through his hair. But he must have imagined it. ...Right? No way Cas could swing that way. Cas was way too attractive to not have options for the bedroom. Nearly homeless men that attempt to steal from him couldn’t be anywhere on that list of options.

“Does that feel secure?” Cas’s voice asked, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. Dean shook his head from side to side, but nothing fell loose.

“Feels better already, thanks, man,” Dean smiled up at Cas, who returned a small one of his own that almost made Dean’s heart stop.

“Are you hungry?” asked Castiel, pushing one sleeve back even further up his arm. Dean tried not to stare at the exposed skin, and cleared his throat hurriedly.

“Uh, no, I’m fine, I can’t take your food.”

“I insist,” Cas answered firmly, turning to the kitchen cabinets and stretching on his toes to reach something. His shirt came untucked on just one side, Dean noticed absently.

“You are my guest, and it is unfitting for a host to not take care of his visitors.”

“Fine, then can I do something to help?” asked Dean, starting to stand. In a flash, Cas was back at his side, shoving him somehow gently but unquestionably back into the chair.

“You can help by not starting bleeding again,” replied Castiel. Staring at Cas in surprise of this unexpected strength, Dean didn’t even protest.

“Do you like soup?” Cas questioned, pulling down a can of something and adding it to a growing pile of seemingly random ingredients on the countertop.

“Yeah, I mean, probably, I haven’t found many foods I don’t like,” Dean babbled. “There was this one time my little brother tried to make dinner and it was something like macaroni and peanut butter sandwiches but even that wasn’t too awful.” Mouth. Ducttape. Now.

“I must say, macaroni and peanut butter does not seem particularly appetizing,” commented Cas calmly over his shoulder as he dumped things into a pot on the stove. “I hope this will be more satisfactory.”

“I’m sure you’re a better cook than Sam, most people are,” Dean laughed. Cas stirred the contents of the pot and reached into a cabinet for two bowls at the same time.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” asked Cas, smiling, as he brought two bowls over to the table. Dean observed the red broth and floating pieces of meat and corners of vegetables approvingly.

“Looks good, smells good, just one left!” Castiel turned off the stove and handed Dean a spoon. After an awkward moment, Cas perched himself with his soup in hand on the edge of the table, considering there was only a single chair (which Dean was sitting in). At the first taste of soup, Dean thought he was going to float away on clouds of deliciousness, and made an appreciative humming sound.

“So you like it?” Cas asked between his own mouthfuls of soup. Dean swallowed quickly to reply.

“Like it? Dude, this is the best thing I’ve had all week, this is delicious! Thanks,” Dean added, scooping more into his mouth.

“I’m glad you find it satisfying. But I deserve no thanks, it is only expected that a guest be cared for,” replied Castiel, eating his soup much more slowly than Dean. “And that- Are you finished already?” Cas asked, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. Dean looked at his empty bowl and compared it to Castiel’s half-full one.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I eat fast.”

“I can see that,” Cas replied with amusement. “Would you like more?” Dean should have said no, but Cas did offer, and he was hungry, and that soup was seriously good...

“Absolutely!” Dean bolted from the table to the stove and the pot of soup.

“Wait!” Cas protested, but too late, Dean was already next to the stove. And he saw that what soup was left barely covered the bottom of the metal pot. Cas was next to him the next second, but Dean had seen how little there was. There was a silence as Dean stared at Castiel with surprise, and Cas stubbornly avoided his gaze.

“Ah, I’m not that hungry anyway,” Desn said into the unexpectedly silent kitchen. Cas frowned, and grabbed the sides of the pot and poured it into Dean’s bowl in one motion.

“Hey!” Dean started angrily. “I just said-”

“I heard you,” Cas interrupted, his voice flat. “I have plenty in the fridge and the cabinet, this is yours.” Defiantly, Dean dumped it back in the pot, meeting Cas’s steely blue eyes steadily.

“I have plenty in my stomach. This is yours,” Dean retorted. Cas narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, Dean thought he was going to get smited.

“Eat the soup!”

“You eat the soup!”

“It is not your living space, as such, it is up to my discretion as to whether or not-” _Oh crap. That is not how you argue with a total stranger, Dean,_ he told himself as his hands tangled themselves in Cas’s hair. _And you should pull away now. Right now._ Dean quickly broke the contact between his lips and Castiel’s and yanked his hands away. The cursing loop in his head started playing faster as he took in Cas’s shocked expression.

“Crap,” Dean breathed, somehow feeling amazingly happy and intensely horrible at the same time. “I- I didn’t mean- You just- I’m so sorry,” he finally got out, trying to gauge every emotion that flashed in Cas’s eyes. There was silence. Castiel finally blinked a few times, breaking their eye contact.

“Don’t be,” he said roughly, and- what? Dean couldn’t have heard that right.

“Don’t be?” Dean repeated dumbly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Castiel answered softly. Dean was pretty sure his brain was a good five seconds behind every word Cas said.

“For- But you- Really? You too?”

“If I correctly understand the thoughts you attempt to convey, then yes, neither of your advances was entirely unwelcome, although unexpected,” Castiel answered calmly. Dean watched Cas’s face intensely for any sign of sarcasm and found none.

“You… You liked kissing me?” Dean asked slowly.

“I wouldn’t know,” Cas replied, smiling a bit now. “You haven’t given me much of a chance.” Dean felt his breathing hitch slightly. “Would you give me an opportunity to find out if I like kissing you?”

“God, yes,” Dean answered quickly, and Cas’s mouth was back on his, and this time there was no pulling away, no startled jumps, only pushing closer and tiny, fast breaths of air shared between kisses. Kissing Cas- or Cas kissing him, did it matter?- was exhilarating, and Dean thought he could fly, or dance, or burst into song at any moment from the pure giddy excitement crashing into his heart. When they finally broke apart, panting, Dean saw the very same bright joy shining in Cas’s blue eyes. Dean swallowed hard, and tried to grin.

“Damn,” he whispered.

“I do think I like it,” Cas replied seriously. Dean laughed.

“Not too bad for the guy who tried to rob you, huh?”

“Your record is two stolen kisses and one stolen wallet,” Cas answered, smiling. “I think more practice of honest work is needed.”

“If you insist, Doc,” Dean agreed happily.

“I am not a doctor,” grumbled Castiel good-naturedly.

“And I’m not a patient one.” Dean grinned at his play on words. “Can we take this somewhere besides a stove?” Cas needed no further prompting, tugging Dean toward the couch across the room.

 

So it turned out, Castiel’s day wasn’t nearly as bad as you would have thought. He lost his job, he had to walk in the rain, and someone stole his wallet, which seems like the endings of a source of income, a sunny day, or keeping the bills paid. But in reality, it was a day of beginnings for Castiel Engel. And with a day of beginnings, so ends our story, leaving two men on a small couch in a tiny apartment, ending two lonelinesses and beginning one relationship. The soup on the stove, you say? Well, it was forgotten. Certain things are very distracting, indeed.

 

 


End file.
